


Red like...

by SC182



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Early in Canon, M/M, Pre-Slash, Stealth Crossover, Supernatural mythology
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-26
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-16 05:18:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/858234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SC182/pseuds/SC182
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apple’s pearlescent skin was gleaming rich and red like fresh blood, red like the color of fevered fornication, and the supple red hue of temptation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red like...

**Author's Note:**

> **Disclaimer** :I do not own any of the characters herein. The characters of Clark Kent, Lex Luthor and the rest of Smallville characters are the property of their creators, the CW and Warner Brothers. Any deviation (or deviant behavior) from the originals, however, is mine.
> 
> **Author Notes** : Prompt from a mashup table from 100_prompts comm on LJ. References to S.1 Smallville and general Supernatural mythology.

The chill in the air was nothing compared to the generally frosty reception Lex received when he entered the Smallville farmers market. The morning was clear and cool, carrying bursts of cinnamon and sugar on the air which was equal parts appetizing and sneeze inducing. Hot and savory like the homemade wares put display by the many salt of the earth denizens who all swore by the same good rotation techniques and recipes handed down from generation to generation with the dexterity and dedication of the passing of the Olympic torch.

But the dramatic decrease in volume and critical stares on his back made the spirit of tradition and Americana roll bitterly over his tongue. It tasted much like ash. Most of the patrons had the good breeding—small pockets, yes, but good manners all the same because they were a Midwest staples like corn and beef—to keep the staring to a minimum until he strode by; others watched him like he was the Shadow of Death come to claim them and drown their fields with a deluge of acid.

Lex smirked at the imagery, his mouth hitching up slightly in the corner and if anyone happened to be closer, they would have noticed an unnatural incandescence at the edge of his gray irises, a detail too small to be noticed by the many.

Small minds were far freer than small pockets and could take ideas just about anywhere. If they thought him the son of the devil, then fine. It wasn’t something he hadn’t mulled over a time or two himself.

As he walked purposelessly here and there, just seeing all that there was to see of this slice of Norman Rockwellian life, he wondered what they would do if they knew they were actually right.

But Lex kept walking, finally making his way between the Woodman beeswax candles display and a heavy table dressed with Kawatche jewelry when he heard someone calling his name. “Lex!”

Then he saw him, Clark Kent, clad in shades of red, white, and blue and true red-blooded all-American boy goodness. So Lex waved back silently before taking one last look at the booth keepers. Some of them he would be seeing sooner than later.

If the smile on his face grew wider in proportion to the deepening scowls of the farmers assembled, then it would cover the entirety of Lex’s face once he reached Clark.

Being a Luthor was only the secondary cause of the unspoken ire.

The primary cause was having the audacity to accidentally run Clark Kent, the only son of the eternally morally erect Jonathan and Martha Kent, off the side of Loeb Bridge and have the audacity to return to life after the boy performed basic lifesaving on his drenched excuse of a person. A kiss for a life, a debt that he owed Clark in this life.

Lex could have stayed death easily enough; however deviations from the Plan always required discussions with his father. Something that even on his best days, Lex tried to avoid at all costs. The last time anyone had bucked his father’s command hadn’t worked out so well. He missed his mother and brother; at least they had some solace in each other. Purgatory had a way of changing perspective after all; it was infinity.

So Lex made a show of perusing the fresh Kent produce and baked goods on the table. “How’s it going, Clark?” He asked, genially.

“Fine, fine, fine,” the boy said, shyly and with a soft puppy dog smile directed entirely at Lex. “I’m surprised to see you here…I didn’t think you, um, went for things like small town farmers markets.”

They were standing on the loose soil of friendship, something that they were both eager to firm up and explore. The rare purity of the boy was enough to force Lex to shore up their burgeoning relationship. With enough care, it would surely blossom into something spectacular.

“Well, yes,” Lex replied, rolling his eyes over the autumn rainbow of colors and foods bucketed, “sometimes even Luthors like the taste of fresh and organic rather than the crunch of spoils and plunder.”

He found a perfect red apple sitting atop a wooden crate brimming with a menagerie of yellows, pinks, and to old-fashioned apple pie reds.

Clark just smiled indulgently at Lex. “Sure, whatever you say, Your Lordship,” he said, then offered his version of a courtly bow.

The boy—and barely that—had taken to the offer of Lex’s friendship like a duck to water. Clark might have dressed like one of the Sears and Roebuck plebians but his mind was sharp and his wit surprisingly capable of matching Lex’s own, at least topically.

So Lex kept smiling at Clark, because it was so easy to do and the want to indulge Clark and see him happy only grew more persistent as the boy ribboned his way into Lex’s life like a sturdy stitch.

“You seem to be rather energetic this morning. May I guess that Ms. Lang is around?”

Clark dipped his chin towards his chest and shook his head blushing, cheeks growing hot and colored to match the apples. “No, ‘s not Lana,” Clark muttered, actually surprising Lex. Lana Lang was a sweet girl, the epitome of small town romance, the embodiment of everything that a small town boy like Clark Kent should want. Yet, she like so many others was blind to the brilliance in from of them.

“Really?” Lex stretched the word to express his curiosity. Along with his peculiar talents that Lex could not deduce in origin or extent, Clark had a talent for unfailingly seeing the best in people despite them doing their best to not deserve it. Lex counted himself chief among the unworthy. “Now, you really have to tell me,” he infused a slight purr in his tone and Clark blushed harder.

“Well, it’s—I have to say, um, it’s everything,” Clark said excitedly, shrugging. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the summer but the fall? It’s just warm enough and it gets cool at night and the stars are out.” He looked to the sky dreamily--wistfully, as there were no stars to be had during the daylight. “And the smell! I know you’re very _particular_ ,” which was not Clark’s way of saying Lex was snobbish but just that Lex was extremely _particular_ about what he ate; a recent childhood of severe allergies did that to a person, “but you can smell it, right? Just how spicy the air is from the cinnamon sugar and the sweetness of the fruit from the harvest and it’s all for us…”

When described by Clark, the Smallville farmers market sounded like the Garden, so perfect and fecund with hope and succulent possibilities. Like the produce presented which stood unblemished and hearty, there were other items that called to him far more keenly that were far more fat and satisfying.

The story of the Garden was one of his father’s favorite vehicles employed to teach Lex at his knee across sprawling lifetimes. It could have been anything: a peach, a nectarine, a pear, a lime, or an orange that tempted Eve. But it was Man that said it was an apple, because centuries before Freud made the subconscious famous, the seed laid in wait to grow into the greedy seedling of temptation. And it was in the embrace of the juiciest fruit that Man fell.

‘I’m sure the cinnamon-sugar appeals to not only you, Clark. I happen to enjoy sweet things, too.” Very sweet, tender things he liked indeed.

The small puddle of good souls swimming in this town was sweet. The power in harvesting such a crop was sweeter still. And Clark? He was the sweetest thing Lex had ever crossed paths with in all his forms. Lex had encountered angels whose grace burned pure and white and sprites and fairies and elves and all manners of things that his mother had designed in deliberate strokes rather than his father’s perceived flights of whimsy; and none were like Clark whose soul coruscated in waves of ruby.

Now Clark shook his head softly as if erasing the thought and a small grin still curled his lush pink lips. “Good to know that when you’re not pillaging and plundering the world that even Luthors can have a sweet tooth.” Then the look in Clark’s green eyes took a turn for mischievous. “I think I can guess which of these,” he waved his hands over the baskets like Houdini’s apprentice, “can satisfy you.”

_Satisfy me?_ Lex thought. _This boy had no idea_ … After weeks of learning the art of friendship and experiencing the quaint thrill of non-abrasive emotional contact, Lex had concluded that there was only one sweet treat that Clark could offer that would sate him.

He gave Clark a nod, accepting the challenge. “Guess away, Boy Wonder.”

Clark made a show of waffling between the bushels of tricolor apples, late summer peaches and nectarines, and even a barrel of corn. Then he pointed to the apple, the one that had originally caught Lex’s eye and grinned broadly. “And this one is for you, Lord Luthor,” Clark offered cheekily, giving the apple to Lex.

The apple’s pearlescent skin was gleaming rich and red like fresh blood, red like the color of fevered fornication, and the supple red hue of temptation. It would do for now until Lex could spread his wings and shower this town in his own torrents of bloody crimson.

“Good eye, Clark, and might I say an _inspired choice_.”

One day, Lex would find Clark’s origins and the source of his wellspring of purity and power, and then, that soul that shone in the tones of vitality would be his. Whether voluntary surrendered or provided for a debt unpaid, it would be his.

Until then, Lex took a bite of the apple and savored the taste of fresh temptation.


End file.
